Where alderbushes and spicewood grew,

      And frogs croaked noisily all night through.

      'Neath muslin curtains, snowy and thin,

      The homely sunflowers nodded in.

      Nan was a picture. Her muslin gown

      Had maybe a bit old-fashioned grown.

      But fitted the slender shape so well.

      In its low-cut neck the soft lace fell.

      Sleeves, it had none from the elbows down;

      In length – well, you see, the maid had grown.

      A labor of love her homely task —

      To share it none need hope nor ask,

      For Nan was washing each trace of dirt

      From fluted bodice and ruffled skirt.

      Now, few that will, and fewer that can,

      Bend over a tub like pretty Nan.

      The frail soap bubbles sailed high in air

      As she drew each piece from frothy lair,

      And rubbed with cruel yet tender hand

      As only a woman could, understand.

      Then wrung with twist of the wrist so strong,

      Examined with care, shook well and long,

      Flung in clear water to lie in state —

      Each dainty piece met the same hard fate.

      "'Tis done!" with a look of conscious pride

      At the rinsing bucket deep and wide.

      Wiping the suds from each rounded arm,

      She turned to John with a smile so warm:

      "I've kept you waiting – excuse me, please,

      The soapsuds ruin such goods as these."

      "You're over fond of finery, Nan,

      Dresses and furbelows," he began.

      "Maybe I am, of a truth," she said.

      Each sunflower nodded its yellow head.

      "Ned Brown's growing rich" – John's words came slow —

      "That he loves you well you doubtless know.

      "My house and acres, I held them fast,

      Was stubborn over them to the last,

      "For when my father was carried forth,

      And men were asking 'What was he worth?'

      "I saw them look and nod and smile

      As they whispered together all the while,

      "'A fine old homestead, but mortgaged so,

      A foolish thing for a man to do!'

      "I said, 'My father's dead and gone,

      But he's left behind a strong-armed son.'

      "My heart was hot with a purpose set

      To clear that mortgage, to pay that debt.

      "I've worked, heaven knows, like any slave,

      I've learned the lesson of scrimp and save,

      "Kept a good horse, but dressed like a clown —

      And I've not a dollar to call my own.

      "I'm beaten – well beaten; yesterday

      Everything went to Ned Brown from me.

      "My woods, my meadows, my tasseled corn,

      The orchard planted when I was born,

      "The old rose garden my mother loved,

      My chestnut mare – can't help feeling moved,

      "For I'm a beggar, Nan, you see —

      Don't think me begging for sympathy.

      "The world is wide, I don't care – much.

      Thank God, health's a thing the law can't touch.

      "The happiest man I ever knew

      Was born a beggar, and died one, too."

      Each sunflower, nodding its yellow head,

      Listened to every word that was said,

      As Nan in her slow and easy way,

      In the farmhouse kitchen that summer day,

      Set a great and weighty problem forth,

      One that no scholar on this green earth

      Has been able to solve since things began

      With Adam – a lone and lonesome man.

      Yet very coolly she set it forth:

      "Tell me the truth, how much am I worth?"

      The sunbeams kissing her golden hair,

      Her cheeks, her round arms dimpled and bare,

      Seemed stamping value of mighty wealth

      On youth, and love, and the bloom of health.

      John looked and looked till his eyes grew dim,

      Then tilted the hat with worthless brim.

      To hide what he would not have her see —

      "You are worth the whole world, Nan," said he.

      "Then you're no beggar," said sweet, bold Nan,

      "You're the whole world richer than any man."

      A girl queen wearing a crown of gold

      Set a precedent, the tale is told,

      But no royal prince this world has seen

      Ever felt so proud as John, I ween,

      As he clasped her hands in new-born hope —

      And never noticed they smelt of soap.

      Only the sunflowers looking on,

      So he kissed the maid – oh, foolish John!

      As he went out through the garden gate

      Ned Brown was coming to learn his fate.

      He was riding John's own chestnut mare,

      But, somehow, John didn't seem to care.

      The two men met at top of the hill,

      And eyed each other as rivals will.

      Ned thought of the home he'd won from John,

      "Poor beggar!" he said, as he rode on.

      John thought of all he had won from Ned,

      "You poor, poor beggar!" was what he said.

      Why? Under the heavens clear and blue

      Only our John and the sunflowers knew.